Two Worlds Collide
by demena4president
Summary: Selena is just another one of the paparazzi gang, hating the fact that she's twisting stories and telling lies. Demi is tired of the pressure put on her as a famous celebrity, and the stress reliever isn't good for her; mentally or physically. When the two cross paths, will they be able to help each other? Can Selena's real dream come true? Or will life get the better of them?
1. Tell Me Something I Don't Know (SG)

_Selena_

"Demi! Demi! Over here!" I tilt my camera at a better angle to get a better photo.

The popstar didn't even glance my way. She was probably used to this kind of thing.

"Can you tell me why you named your album after yourself? Isn't that kind of vain?" A reporter nearby shoved their mic into Demi's face.

She kept a straight face and continued to her car.

"Torres! Hey, is it true that you have are going out with Joe again?"

"Demi, look this way!"

"Demi! Can I get a photo?"

We were like dogs, all fighting for the bone. But the bone would not even let itself be had by any of us. With a slight smirk, Demi opened the door and hopped in, not answering a single question.

I take a few more snapshots, then sigh tiredly. It was the same everyday; we would stalk some poor celebrity and take some pictures, bug them about stupid questions, humiliate them, then stalk another celebrity.

To us paparrazi, it was more than just a game. It was a game of fame, and whoever had the biggest news on the biggest star was the best... until the next day when we would start the process all over again.

I sigh and let my camera drop from my eyes. This was the closest I had got to any news. When I return empty handed, my boss is not going to be happy.

After a quick time check, I figure I could try to follow Demi a ways before I turn in. I might get lucky; maybe I'll get a shot of her in the car with a guy. My corporation could turn that so many ways it's scary.

Lucky for me, none of the other paps are following her. I sprint to my car, start it, and follow the sleek, black limo.

My camera is now snuggled in the passenger side, ready for a quick use. My camera is my lifeline in this job, and if anything were to happen to it, I would be dead. Not exactly literally, but almost.

The traffic here is _awful. _I pull into the turning lane right behind Demi, but I barely make it. Sometimes I wonder how this place even manages to cope.

My phone starts going off as I wait for the light to turn green, and I answer it with a quick, "hello?"

"Selena, where are you? Your shift ended an hour ago!" My best friend, Jennifer, is obviously worried.

"I'm trailing Torres. I haven't gotten a good shot today, so I figured maybe I could make up for it..."

"You need a break. They work you too hard." I can hear her whining on my end. "Please come home."

"I'll be back in a jiff, just let me try this." I hang up on her when the the limo starts moving. We're finally heading to wherever she wants to go.

After nearly an hour of traffic, we arrive at Demi's house. Dang, I was hoping we would get somewhere interesting. This was all for nothing.

She gets out and I figure I might as well get some shots. My camera is halfway to my face when she looks around and sees me.

Her face scrunches up, and then she's calling someone. I don't want to get in trouble, so I take a quick picture and head out of there.

_Demi _

I am so sick of the paparrazi. They never seem to know when to stop; where to draw the line. It's so... frustrating.

Joe taught me an easy way to get rid of some of them. You just pretend to get on the phone, and they leave. Usually. Some of the more stubborn ones stayed.

Maybe if people would just start acting like I'm a normal human being, which I am, I would be left alone.

Anyways, today is not the day for a long rant. In fact, I have a week to write a new song. A _week_. Usually I got a little bit more time, but we were in a hurry to release my new album.

I sigh. There's only one thing that can relieve this stress.

After unlocking my door, I walk in and hear my footsteps echo in the empty house. I really need a roomate. Then I make my way to my bathroom, where my razor is waiting.

The first slice isn't deep, it barely grazes my skin. The second draws blood, and the numbing pain that erupts give me a stinging peace. The more I cut, the more I feel in control.

I know this isn't healthy, mentally or physically. But eventually, I know that I'll fill the aching gap in my chest. Until then, this is all I have. My razor and my songs.

After the fifth cut, I put the razor down and make my way to my room. Not to boast or anything, but I like to keep things clean and organized, so my room was pretty much perfect.

My songbook and my pencil in hand, I plop onto my bed and realize I have no real inspiration right now for the song. To write passionately and with meaning, I need to have some sort of story to put into the words, a ringing truth that I understand. But it's so difficult now, with everything going on. I feel like I've written everything I have to write; and everything else has been sung at least a thousand times, just in different ways.

I have a week, and then I'm in big trouble.

_Selena_

Exhausted and far from satisfied, I let myself into the apartment Jennifer and I share. She's sitting on the couch, dark bags under her eyes and a robe wrapped around her body.

"Selena!" She stands up when I come in.

"I'm here, Jen. You can go to bed, now." I smile at her relief.

"You need to stop doing so much overtime without pay."

"It's better than doing not enough without a job. I need to get a decent picture or an interview of some sort or else I'm going to be fired. And once my job is gone, who's going to pay for the apartment?"

Jen bows her head. "I'm sorry I don't have a job. I'm too busy in school, and you know that."

"You're right." I run a hand through my hair and glance at the clock. "And we _both _need sleep. I'll see you in the morning."

My best friend nods, and we head to our seperate bedrooms.

No matter how hard I try, I can't make my bedroom feel like it belongs to me. The walls are painted black, white, and blue, with my name on the ceiling where my mother decided to paint it. I had scattered photographs lining the walls; all my own. Most of them were of celebrities, but others were just me messing around; like a picture of Jennifer posing like a statue, or a pretty flower.

My bed was average size, I guess, and my bedding was black and white to match the walls. The dresser was covered in clothes, because I honestly just throw something on every morning and I don't have time to reorganize.

And most importantly, my secret lay hidden in the closet, where no one would find it.

_Demi_

It's late, and I _still _haven't thought of anything; not even one verse. My sleep is very important, so I probably shouldn't stay up any longer.

With a yawn, I pull on a baggy shirt and some sweats, then brush my teeth. There's really no purpose of brushing my hair seens how I'm just about to go back to bed, so I crawl under the covers and close my eyes.

Well, try to close my eyes. I can feel the stress bubbling up again; the pressure, the pain. I get out of bed. Maybe just one more time.

The lights are flipped back on and I make it to my bathroom, taking my phone with me. You never know when someone's going to call you with major news.

The razor is right where I left it. I rinse it off, realizing that had slipped my mind the last time I used it, and put it against my skin for the second time today.

Usually I only cut myself once a day, but apparently this was a 'special day.'

The blade glides across my skin like nothing, leaving a line of red that only gives me a rush. The feeling of actually knowing what's going on; _control_. That's what this is all about. I need control.

My phone rings unexpectedly, and the gash goes a little deeper than I intended. The pain makes me hiss involuntarily, and I look down to see I'm losing blood a little faster than wanted.

"Shiz." I dab at the wound with my pajama shirt, while reaching across to grab my phone. "Hello?"

"Demi, you're pop rates are going _down_!" My manager, Fay, whines, referring to popular as 'pop' is a normal thing for her.

"What, why?" I knock over a bottle of vitamins in an effort to get to the bandages, and the sound makes an echoing rattle in the silence.

"I don't know, but we need to schedule an interview of sorts with a local magazine or who knows what will happen."

"Alright." I sigh, wrapping a cloth bandage around my arm. "When do you want to schedule it?"

"I was kind of hoping for... tomorrow?"

"What? No magazine is going to let you schedule something so soon."

She laughs. "Are you kidding? They _need _stuff like this. Trust me, if I asked, the paparrazi would head down right now."

"The paparrazi! I thought you wanted an interview!" I can't believe this! She wants me to help my enemy?

"The '_Now' _uses the paparrazi for both. I'll get someone to schedule an interview right now so you can be in their magazine."

Before I can reply, she hangs up. Now I have even less time for my song, and an interview to worry about.

I glance at the razor, than grin to myself at my next thought.

Any worse, and the celebrity life might have me doing drugs.

_Selena_

I can't fall asleep. I don't know why, but I can't. It's difficult when you don't know if you're going to have a job the next morning.

I'm sure that my boss wouldn't mind if it was like, the first time I hadn't gotten anything, but this was only one of many. The past few weeks have been so dull in the celeb world that I'm not sure I'm going to get anything at all anytime soon. It's hard to imagine me getting anything.

Will, my supervisor, said if I have to I could just make something up about the picture so the writers have a good idea what to put about the image, but I don't like lying. That's their job, not mine. I supply the pictures, they supply the lies. That's kind of how my job works.

Don't assume that I don't feel bad about this. I feel terrible. I don't like the feeling of taking someone's life and twisting it for the public. That's like pantsing someone, except for in writing, which is worse because they can't just pick their pants up of the ground and blush. They have to sit through all the people getting the wrong idea about them. It sickens me.

When I was younger, I had the biggest dream of anyone I knew. But everyone told me it was impossible, so in high school I decided I would become a professional photographer. My older brother, David, decided to tell me that the biggest photographers went to LA to become big.

Apparently being a part of the paparrazi and being a professional photographer are the same thing to him or something, because I moved here, got a job, found my best friend, and then realized I was working for the wrong people.

Thanks a lot, David.

Personally, I don't blame him for too much, but sometimes it's a little hard not wondering what my life would be like if I had actually found a job as a professional photographer. I just needed someone to manage the selling of the images, and then I would've been able to start out. But no, David just _had _to decide that LA was 'full of people like me' and I would 'fit in perfectly.'

I was the outcast. I got out of the plane in a baggy sweatshirt in jeans, my dream supposedly coming true. As soon as I looked around I had realized I wasn't like everyone else. I wasn't wearing makeup, I was dressed like a normal person (apparently people in LA don't do that) and I actually had a personality and feelings. Everyone here walks around with the same expression and attitude as everyone else. It's like a race to be _in _or whatever.

I hate it.

Luckily, I ran into Jennifer at the airport and we became super fast friends. She needed a place to stay so she could go to school, and I found myself offering a room in my apartment.

I am _so _glad I did that. I don't know what life here would be without her; she's the only highlight in this heartless city.

My old dream was to become a photographer.

My new dream is to be able to put the camera down and focus on the impossible.

Because I'm sick of everyone telling me I can't.


	2. Believe In Me (DL)

_Selena_

As soon as I wake up, I get a text notification from my boss about one of my coworkers, Miley. I'm a bit suprised, because it's only eight in the morning, and her shift starts at one p.m.

_Miley has an interview with Demi today! _I can't help it, I'm automatically jealous. An interview with Demi Torres? I would definatly have been able to use that.

After pulling on some clothes and brushing my hair and teeth, I leave the house. Jen is already gone; most likely to school.

My car is freezing. It's almost October, and the air seems to sparkle with the cold.

I check my email to see what my boss wants me to do today. Nothing? I guess today I can actually get a day off.

But first, I need coffee.

A Starbucks trip and a five dollar bill later, I sip my drink and wonder what I'm going to do with my day.

_Demi_

They told me my interview was at ten in the morning, so I had a little time to shower and do my makeup. There was a large gash on my arm where I had accidentally cut too deep, so I wore extra long sleeves. It would look like I was just dressing to impress, but there was another reason. Don't want the world finding out about this.

The interviewer's name was Miley. It was nice that it was a girl, the guy interviewers get a little more annoying than the girls. Us ladies know when to stop pressing boundaries. Guys don't usually have any idea.

I was completely prepared for the knock on the door. I was not ready for the person I opened the door to.

She was wearing _very _short skirt, that showed her underwear. Her top didn't cover anything but her lower chest, and then cut off so you could see her stomach. She had spiky blonde hair and lips stained red stretching into what looked like the smile of a maniac.

"Hi!" She busted through the door past me, lugging a lot of camera equitment and a notebook.

"Um, hi." I try not to focus on getting through the interview without commenting on her attire. Did she really do this to all the celebrity's?

"So let's get this done and over with as quick and painless as possible." She set up her camera in a blink of an eye, and then whipped out a pencil and started scribbling in the notebook.

"Okay..." I situated myself, trying not to look at the glaring lense.

"So tell me, how do you feel about..."

It went on so long, I can hardly believe only an hour passed. She kept asking me things that I had no intention of answering, and she was the worst at understanding what I was saying. I told her I named my new album after myself because it felt like it defined my feelings and emotions, but she kept thinking I named i because the letters stood for something.

"The D is for what?" She kept asking. "Determined? Demanding? Decided?"

"It doesn't stand for anything." I answered for the fiftieth time.

"Well, the E _must _be for encouraged..."

Finally, I put my foot down. "I think this interview is over. Thanks for coming."

After a couple minutes of procrastinating, she finally left.

Took her long enough.

Now I'm supposed to go out and talk to some paparazzi.

_Selena_

Miley keeps boasting about how she got the interview with Demil I can't say that I'm not envious, because I am, but how long does she have to rub this in my face. I mean honestly, it's hard enough not to feel jealous when she's not talking about it 24/7.

Supposedly, Demi is supposed to go out in public later as well and answer a bunch of questions. I just got an email telling me to get my butt down there... apparently this won't be my day off after all.

Luckily, I had my camera with me, as always. You never know when something like this is going to happen with my job.

Traffic is pretty bad, but I manage to make it to the location the mail told me about. There's a giant group of paparazzi already there. It's going to be hard to get a picture through that crowd.

I can't really see the pop star through all the people. I push my way through the camera's and shouts.

There's still no sign of her. I'm half wondering if she's even here at all when I here a scream.

"There she is!" Some fan tries to push past me towards the center of the crowd.

All the camera's start flashing at once. I was momentarily blinded from the continued bright flashes.

_Demi_

As soon as I get out of the limo, some fan screams and I'm surrounded by camera's and people hurling nonsense questions at me.

I try to smile as best I can. My boss says I only have to be here for five minutes.

"I did write a bonus song for my album!" I shout, answering one of the questions. "I am not gay. No, I am not starving myself. Yes, I dye my hair a lot."

The list went on. Just as soon as I thought I couldn't take it, my watch beeped. Time was up.

I look behind me, where my limo is supposed to still be. Instead of the shiny black vehicle, all I can see are the paps.

"Excuse me." I try to shove my way through them, but they won't budge.

Oh no.

_Selena_

I finally manage to push through to the front. It appears that Demi Torres is... stuck?

She seems to be trying to get out of the ring of paparazzi, but no one will let her through.

"Demi, look over here!" They are all shouting at her, trying to get her to answer more questions.

I put my own camera up to my eyes to take a picture myself, but then I put it down. I will not be a willing part in this. Instead, I grab Demi's arm as she passes. She looks at me, and I see a glint of fear in her eyes.

"Get out of the way!" I make a path with my other arm, and lead the celebrity out of the mass. Everyone is in confusion, not knowing what's going on. Demi puts her free hand up to her face in a futile attempt to hide her identity.

Finally, we break free. I manage to take her to my car and push her into the passenger side before getting in myself.

I push on the gas, knowing that it would be hard for the paps to follow in this traffic. Soon the mess is way behind us.

"Where do you want me to take you?" I ask, finally speaking and trying to resist the urge to grab my camera and snap a thousand pictures.

"My house. I'm guessing you know where it is." She sounds bitter, and I catch her looking at my camera, which hangs around my neck all the time.

She knows I'm a part of the paparazzi now. She probably hates me.

"I do." I pull into the turning lane.

The rest of the drive is in silence. The air is thick with awkwardness, and I wish I had cleaned up the car a little bit now. It's littered with coffee cups, notes, magazines, and film.

When we finally do arrive at her house, I get out of the car and open the door for her, trying to act kindly. She stumbles on the curb and trips with an 'oomph.'

"Are you alright?" I help her up, and notice her sleeve is rolled back, exposing a red gash on her arm and a couple of smaller lines on her wrist. There's only one thing that can mean.

When I bend over, my camera takes a picture. She blinks, the flash catching her off guard.

"What was that about?" She demands, quickly pushing down her sleeve so the wounds are hidden from view.

"Sorry, accident." I try to hide my surprise.

"Well, thanks for the ride." She starts to make her way back to her house.

"Wait." I find myself grabbing her shoulder and pulling her back. She's almost as startled as I am at the move.

"Yes?" Dem manages.

"Stay strong."

_Demi _

She looks meaningfully at the place where my sleeve is covering my cut marks, and then flees to her car without another word.

I watch her start the car hurriedly, and then zoom out of my driveway and down the road. Then she's gone, her words still echoing in my head.

_Selena_

I cannot believe I just said that. It was none of my business what Demi Torres did to relieve her stress... at least it wasn't drugs or something.

The second I got home, I ran upstairs and threw myself on my bed, careful to land on my back so as not to destroy my camera.

A quick look at the clock told me I still had a long while before Jennifer came back. It had been a while since I had cleaned my camera, which was kind of _my _stress reliever. I plugged it into the computer to download the photo's I had taken so far. It's the first step.

Most of them were the pictures I had gotten yesterday, but there was one from today. Weird, I haven't taken any.

I click on it, and I realize it must be the picture my camera took when I bent over to help Demi up.

I gasp when I see it.

It's a picture of Demi with her wrist exposed, and you can easily see the cut marks.

If this were to get into the media, I would be rich, and Demi would be exposed.


	3. See You Again (MC)

_Demi _

I walked inside in a daze. The girl had obviously seen my cut marks. Not only did someone now know my secret, but also, it was one of the paparrazi. I would be lucky if the picture wasn't in some magazine tomorrow morning.

One thing I've learned since I've been famous; you can never trust the paparazzi. It's just not smart. They're aren't trustworthy. One minute they're trying to be your friend, and then everything you told them is splashed across the front page of some new gossip article.

I thought about her words. _Stay strong_... was she trying to tell me to stop cutting myself? What was the point of that message. I couldn't help but try to think over every possible thing she could be trying to communicate.

With a huff, I let myself fall back onto my bed and stare at the ceiling. The dotted texture was in some sort of pattern... I looked harder, and it was a replica of the girls face.

I'm not going to deny it, she had been stunningly beautiful. But that's not really what I needed to think about. I blinked and the pattern was gone.

Why had I let myself go out in public? I know very well that cuts like this last way longer than my normal ones, this one went twice as deep as the rest. Plus, my other ones were still very clear. If anyone had gotten a picture of me without sleeves, I would be exposed for good.

_Selena_

I stared at the computer screen, shocked. Nothing like this had ever happened to me. It was always take the picture, turn it in. Take a picture, turn it in. Never, take the picture, think about turning it in, turn it in.

Right now, I can't even think about turning this in. Demi would definitely suffer, but publicly, and emotionally. Personally, I don't really care, everyone has their own way of stress relieving, but I know that other people _do _care, even if it's none of their business.

I look at the photo again. Demi's dark brown hair is slightly ruffled from her fall, her cheeks are pink in embarrassment and her mouth is slightly open. Her eyes are wide, and she looks very startled. I'm not surprised; that's the look most people have right after they trip.

Her long sleeves are pushed back, and her shirt has ridden up to her belly button. I glance again at the arm with the cuts. There's no doubt about it, she has been cutting herself.

I stand up so abruptly, I almost knock over my chair. After running my hands through my hair, I look around.

Good. No one's here.

I pull out my secret... a worn, very battered keyboard. It's time for _my _stress reliever- music.

Letting my fingers fall onto the keys, I feel a peace come over me. I experiment with a few chords, and then push a button so a beat starts up.

I'm playing and dancing at the same time; just allowing all my worries to melt away.

Then there's a creak, and the door opens down the hall.

Jennifer is home.

My eyes widen. I've never had my piano out while she's home. In a rush, I grab it and turn to stuff it in my closet.

She comes in just as I'm throwing the cord in with it.

"Hey, what are you doing?" Jen tilts her head, obviously suspicious and curious at the same time.

"I'm just...er..." I'm slightly out of breath, and my mind is racing to try to come up with something to say. "Just doing... my... bed to closet exercise."

"Bed to closet exercise...?"

"Yeah, you know, good, um, cardio!" I start running the three feet from my bed to my closet back and forth. Most of this is me turning around, running two steps, and then going back.

"Are you okay?" My best friend is looking at me like I'm crazy.

"Yeah, of course I am!" Still doing my 'exercise,' I try to make conversation. "So how was school."

"You sound like my mother." With that kindly response, she leaves my room. I immediately stop running, breathless, heart pounding, I shut the door behind her and collapse into my chair.

That was too close.

_Demi_

My interview with that Miley person is on TV. My manager told me to watch it, so I can learn how to 'self improve,' so I grab my remote and flip to the right channel.

"And here is Miley Cyrus with Demi Torres!" A man's voice came from who knows where, and there I was.

I would describe it in detail, but as the interview went on, I just grew angry. Some sort of editor had cut some parts and put some other parts together, so it was making me out to be some gay, non-caring celebrity who named her album after herself because she loved herself.

No offense to the gays out there, but I'm not a gay. I have nothing against gays, but I am not one, so it's still kind of offensive when I got called one.

I should've known that paparazzi chick was trouble the moment she walked in.

Completely pissed, I pressed the power button and sat back, trying to let myself calm down. No, no luck there. There was only one thing to do.

The route to the bathroom is very familiar to me now. The razor is right where it always is. I press the sharp edge against my skin and slide it over gently. The cold, burning sting is relief. I let the pain seep away. The thin line of red left of my arm isn't serious, but it's enough to help me calm down. Just one more...

The blade cuts it's way into my arm. I'm careful to avoid the area I wounded last night, so as not to inflict any more damage.

Finally, I wipe my arm with some toilet paper so as to get rid of the small amount of blood left there.

Feeling much better, I get up, but then I'm stopped dead in my tracks.

_Stay strong_. The voice echos in my head. I face palm... I shouldnt've done that!

Then I rethink to myself; why does it matter? She's not the boss of me! She's just a paparazzi girl!

My phone goes off and I look down and groan. My manager is insisting I go have dinner with another celebrity so as to get even more publicity. Obviously, they're still upset about my rates going down.

"Fine. But I'm going to McDonalds." I mumble to myself, pulling down my sleeves again and getting in my car. When would all this drama end?

_Selena_

"Hey, Sel, come on! Let's go grab some food!" Jennifer called from her room. I forced myself to get off my bed and go out into the hallway.

"Where do you want to go? I'm broke." I thought we had decided we were going to eat at home tonight.

"I won a bet." She pulled out a twenty dollar bill. "But I'm starving. Let's make it cheap and fast."

"Fast or sonic speed?" I squeeze into my shoes and grab my purse.

"Sonic speed."

She grabs her keys and we head out. I know exactly where we're headed. I mean, what's the fasted restaurant?

Jen doesn't say a word the whole trip. I can hear her stomach grumbling. We're at a red light and it gives a particularly loud groan.

"What have you been doing in your bedroom to make you wait this long to eat?" I laugh. It's eight o' clock, and she's apparently starving.

"I've been doing homework." The sudden pressure to the gas pedal makes us fly forward and almost hit the car in front of us. Jennifer switches lanes to pass, and then swerves to another lane, trying to keep ahead of the growing rows of cars.

"Slow down!" I know my friend is an amazing driver, but she is literally going ten miles over the speed limit. In a big city, that is _not _a good idea.

Somehow, we make it to our destination without dying.

"Here we are! McDonalds!" Jennifer smiles at me and we both get out.

_Demi _

"So, I haven't seen a Tweet from you in forever!" I know he's trying to keep things going, but ever since Joe and I broke up, things between me and Nick have always been awkward.

"The last one was yesterday." To be honest, I'm really bored of this conversation. I've already finished my fries and my drink, and people are starting to give me second glances.

It's funny, how these people's minds work. First, they see me, and they think, 'no, Demi Torres wouldn't eat in a place like this.'

And then they think, 'but that looks like her!'

Can you guess what comes next? Judgement. Judgement galore. I literally am having judgement for dinner, with a side of fries and a Dr. Pepper.

Not like this is anything new.

"Oh, er, I see." Nick fidgets in his chair. I try to smile at him, but I'm distracted by the constant rumble of different chit-chat around the restaurant. My eyes keep flitting around, looking at all the different people. Almost half of them are already looking at me, but then look away at the eye contact.

A bell dings, letting us all know someone else has arrived. I watch the door open, and then my heart stops. It's... it's... _her. _

_Selena_

At first I had thought that Jennifer and I were going to go through the drive thru, but now I realize that this was the right decision. It would take much less time for us to get our food if we went inside, the line outside was gigantic.

I scan the room for no real reason, just to get a feel of my surroundings. Then I come in eye contact with... wait...was that Demi Torres?!

Jennifer was staring at the menu. "What do you think, should I get a large or a medium? I'm trying to watch my weight."

"A badah fle." I manage, then I shake my head to clear it and avert my gaze, pretending I never saw her. "Get whatever you feel comfortable with."

"Alright." Jennifer orders the medium meal and I manage to order a ice cream cone and a small fry. Almost before we've payed, our order is up.

You can't help but love McDonalds.

I grab the tray and look around. Wow, just my luck, the only empty place is the table next to Demi and whoever that guy was... I think that's Nick Grey! My camera, like always, is hanging around my neck, freshly cleaned and ready for a snapshot. I'm aching to take a picture.

Demi and Nick, having dinner together? Oh, the ways my magazine could twist this little scene.

For the second time today, mine and the popstar's gazes meet. She looks at my camera, then looks straight into my eyes, raising an eyebrow as if daring me to even reach for the tool.

I did the thing anyone would do if Demi Torres started smirking at them.

I dropped the food all over the floor and my best friend's shoes.

"Oh my!" Jen gasped as cold ice cream hit her shins, followed by fries. I'm wearing her Pepsi and the burger, still wrapped, is sitting cozily on my shoe.

"Shoot." I bend down and begin scraping all the food up. "I am so sorry..."

"What's gotten into you today?" My friend kneels and starts helping me.

"Ma'am? Is there a problem here?" A very stern man walks around the counter and gives Jen and I a look, like we're three year olds who just purposefully made a mess.

"Um, no, sorry, my hand slipped..." I peel a fry off of the counter and do my best to smile up at him.

"It looked like you did that all on your own, miss." He thought I had done it purposefully?! "Do I need to ask you to leave?"

"Um, sir, I... um... sorry I was just..." I stuttered. His blue eyes were focues intently on me, and I was struggling to speak. I don't like being the center of attention.

"It was my fault." A clear voice spoke from my left. This wasn't happening... this wasn't happening...

I look up and there is Demi Torres, eyes ablaze.

"Ms. Torres?" He sound shocked. "Er, of course it wasn't your fault..."

"Demi!?" The guy at her booth seems a little put out, too. Demi seems to be surprising every guy in the room.

"It was, sir. Can you please get someone out here to take care of the mess?" She bent over and, no... she was helping me clean up.

My cheeks were red in embarrassment and humiliation. "I'll wait in the car..." I choke to Jennifer, and then I get up and leave. There is no way I'm sticking around there.

_Demi _

As soon as I start helping, she leaves. A piece of paper flutters to the floor from her pocket, and I don't dare call out to her. That might scare her even more.

"I'm sorry, she's been acting strange ever since yesterday." The other girl apologizes. She's pretty calm for cleaning fast food off of a nasty floor with a celebrity.

"It's fine."

"Ms. Torres, please, step aside." The man from earlier had grabbed a broom. I got to my feet and he began sweeping up the mess.

"Thanks." I flash a smile at him.

The piece of paper is a business card. It appears to be blank, but then I flip it over.

_Selena Russo_

_ (541-432-5612) _

A magazine name is under the number, but I'm mostly focused on that part. I have a name now. Selena.. that's a pretty name.

"I'd be happy to refund your food, no charge." The guy says. He's obviously the manager.

"Oh, thank you..." The girl is cut off by a bag of food stuffed in her hands, along with a drink and an ice cream.

"Do you need help carrying that?" She looks like she's about to drop something any second.

"Yes please." She gives me the ice cream. Vanilla is already starting to drip. I lick one of the droplets off my hand, savoring the sweet taste.

"Demi?" Nick is trying to wave me back over.

"Just a sec!" I call back, and the stranger leads me outside to a small, dirty red car.

Selena (I can't believe I know her name) is sitting in the passenger seat. She appears to be banging her head on the dashboard repeatedly and muttering something under her breath.

The windows are down, and some of the words float over to me.

"Stupid...dropped it... stupid...can't believe...stupid..."

"Excuse me." The girl grins slightly and then walks over and taps on the glass. Selena's head jerks up and her face goes completely red when she see's me. Wow, someone is _really _embarrassed.

"Here." Selena's friend hands her some fries through the open window, and then gestures for me to approach. I avoid eye contact, and then hand Selena the ice cream. Our hands touch, and the spark that it ignites makes me surprised _I _didn't drop the dessert.

Now she has an ice cream and fries. What? Her friend see's me looking and laughs.

"Selena is weird. She dips her fries into vanilla instead of ketchup."

I tilt my head. "Interesting."

"Yeah."

We both go quiet, and I realize I need to get back to Nick. "I have to go, it was nice to kinda sorta meet you!"

"You too." I shake the girls hand, trying not to make it all sticky seens how some of the ice cream melted into my hand. Then I head back into the building, trying my best to look straight forward and not glance back.

_Selena _

"Okay, you _never _told me you were on talking terms with DEMI FREAKING TORRES!" Jennifer doesn't even start the car. She just looks at me from the drivers seat, obviously amazed.

"Um, sorry? I didn't think I was..." Was all I could manage.

"Was it obvious? Was I some crazed fan?"

"No, you were very cool and collected." I smile at my friend, who's almost hyperventilating. Demi Torres is Jennifer's role model. I can't believe she didn't pass out at the sight of her or something.

"I. Talked. With. Her." Jen's eyes are as wide as saucers. "This is _so _going on Facebook."

There's a pause, and then we both start laughing hysterically. I mean, who can say that this has happened to them? Not many.

I glance inside through the glass at Demi, who appears to be talking to Nick again. What next, I meet JB and he falls hopelessly in love with me? Now _that_, would be good for my magazine.


	4. My Dilemma (SG)

**I. Love. You! Yes you! I love all my reviewers and followers and favoriters and readers so much, that if I knew you I might possibly jump in front of a bullet for your... possibly... maybe... **

**Special thanks to that certian reviewer who helped me out with some things I needed to edit, I appreciate the tips and I think I fixed everything, but let me know if I didn't get something! I am really glad I got to correct that stuff, thanks for pointing it out :) **

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_Selena_

Jennifer would not shut up about Dem the whole way home.

"Have you got her number now or something? Are you two, like, BFFTLEWE's now?"

"Um, no." I can't believe I humiliated myself in front of Demi. Twice.

"You should've gotten her autograph for me or something!"

"Jen."

"I _love _her new album, did you guys talk about it?"

"Jen!"

"She looked absolutely fabulous in person, I knew she would be just as pretty up close. I can't _wait _to tell my boyfriend all about this."

"_JEN!"_

She finally pulls in and then turns to look at me, somewhat exasperatedly. "Yes?"

"Can we talk about this tomorrow? I'm still completely horrified. Wait for the humiliation to wear off please?"

With a huff, she nods. I know she's dying to talk about this, but right now, I need my music. Now.

We walk up to the door, I unlock it, and we're back 'home.' Jen mumbles something about going to be early so she could wake up in the morning, and I dash for my computer.

I have around five songs that are mine on my computer, all hidden and named strange things so if Jen ever comes sneaking she won't find or click on my secret. Five is pretty much all I could risk.

It was like a huge bubble of pressure and stress had popped the second the first note came up. Almost all my songs on here were fast pitched, but one out of the five was slow. This is that one.

Oh, did I mention I don't sing?

All my recordings are instrumental. I used to love to sing... but a couple years later and some certain experiences led me to believe that my voice was terrible. So I never sing. Never.

Not in the shower.

Not in church.

Not in my room when I am positive no one is home.

Never.

_Demi_

I managed to escape from McDonalds faster than I had ever dreamed. Don't get me wrong, Nick is a great guy, but sometimes I want to have some alone time, not 'raise the rates' time.

Right now I'm snuggling under the covers of my bed, thinking about everything. Everything that has gone on the past few days, and how I'm going to deal with the stress of being a celebrity when I know I shouldn't cut for a couple days, maybe a week, so I can let the marks fade. If the public catches even a simple glimpse of these...

My best friends are all different now. Either drug addicts, or attention cravers. They all dress inappropriately and laugh at how America is going down the drain. They don't write original songs, or anything that they feel means something. In conclusion, all the people I use to know have gone bad in my eyes. I am alone.

So alone.

A sudden shiver dances down my spine and I shudder involuntarly, trying to get the sudden chill out of my system. Wrapping the blankets even tighter around my body, I realize I still have my clothes on for the day; I haven't even changed to pajama's yet.

Groaning, I get up out of bed and change. A crumpled paper twirls to the carpet, and I bend over to pick it back up.

It's the business card that belongs to Selena! I can't help it. I don't care if it's nine thirty at night, I'm calling this number.

It rings. And rings. And rings. Finally, someone picks up.

"Hello, this is Marge with _The Now_. How may I help you?"

"I'm sorry, I must have dialed the wrong number." I mentally face palm. What, did I actually think she would put her personal number on her business card? And honestly, if there is something that I can't stand it's when someone wastes time.

That call? A complete waste of seventeen seconds of my time.

I hang up on the woman and realize that I now know what company she works for. I'm just the perfect little stalker, aren't I? I know her name, her business, what she does...

I should hate her. She's a part of the group that ruins my life daily; she's a part of the group that makes it so I can't just go out wearing some sweats and a t-shirt without being critisized.

Maybe someday I'll learn to ignore it, but it's kind of hard at the moment. She's...she's... _one of them_.

But then again, she's not. She helped me out of that crowd when she could've been taking pictures of everyone else. Then, when we got to my house, she didn't take a bunch of pictures of me falling.

Then again, there was that flash when she bent over to help me up, but I'm pretty sure that was an accident.

I honestly have _no _idea why I helped her at McDonalds. I'm beginning to want to know more about this mysterious paparrazi girl. The problem is, this is the same thing that's happened before.

And I always end up on the front page, alongside my secrets.

_Selena_

I let my eyes close as the ending note wavered and pulsed. It was like smoking a cigarette, exept for instead of the smoke I would be breathing out my stress. A huge weight lifted off my shoulders.

Suddenly, my phone goes off. I check the caller ID before answering and gulp. It's my boss, Jared Gale.

"Hello?"

"Hey Selena. I need to talk with you." He sounds really serious.

"What is it Mr. Gale?"

"You know you haven't been inputting any new pictures for almost two weeks now."

Oh no. "Yeah, I know, but..."

"No buts Russo. I'm going to be nice, since you're a very nice girl and I know you need this job. I'm giving you a week to get some decent pictures for an article, or I'm afraid I'm going to have to... fire you."

"I understand." My heart sinks. I was hoping Jared hadn't noticed.

"Good. I'm hoping to see a image with your name on it very soon."

"Got it. Goodbye!"

"'Bye!"

I feel horrible. Jared is right. I haven't been getting anything good, and _The Now _needs some news more than ever.

A few clicks on my computer and I pull up the picture of Demi with her cuts showing. It's perfect. I would make at least a thousand dollars selling this to _The Now_, and who knows, maybe more than just my own magazine would want to purcahse the image. Her secret would be splashed across the covers of every article in the city.

Just one problem.

I really don't want to do this.

_Demi_

I'm so close to sleep. My eyes are closed and I'm starting to doze off. But then I come to a realization, and my eyes open at once.

My song! I'm supposed to be writing a song! I only have five days or less left!

It might be ten at night, but I fly out of bed and grab a notebook and pencil. I chew on the end for a bit, then realize I _still _don't have an inspiration or any idea. There's just nothing to write about, I feel like I've covered everything, and anything I might have missed is covered by a thousand different artists.

Crawling back to bed and turning off the light, I realize I need to write this song tomorrow so I can figure out a tune.

I fall asleep to the lingering thoughts of my dilemna, and, of course, mysterious Selena Russo.


	5. La La Land (DL)

**Hey you guys. So...yeah. Here's the chapter. I've been a butt, because I haven't updated, but I've been really busy I swear, I'm not just ignoring this fanfiction. I will continue! I WILL! Thanks to my reviews and followers and favs and readers, you guys rule! It's amazing to think my work is read by all you guys. I don't really know where you're from or much about you, but it's so cool to think I'm reaching people all over the world by just writing a little story. If you ever just want to chat, I always reply to PMs, so feel free to message. We might not be in the same time zone (it's highly unlikely) but I REALLY love talking to new people, so, like I said, if you ever want to talk go ahead and shoot me a message. Anyhow, thanks for everything!**

_Selena_

I woke up feeling like I needed to get something done. Technically, I _did _need to get something done, but at least I was motivated. My email from my boss popped up almost the second I got my phone, but my high crashed when I saw who I had to torture today.

None other than Demi Lovato.

I didn't want to do this anymore, and now, ever since I had told Demi to stay strong, I have even more guilt about my job than usual, and that's saying something. Talking to someone who's a part of the celebrity world; it's like talking to an alien. Weird, unusual, and completely different. But it completely changed my viewpoint. Unfortunately, that's all it changes, and if I am supposed to support Jen and I, along with paying for our apartment, I need this job more than I care to admit.

The thing is, I don't want to be a part of the paparrazi. I want to be a photographer, I want to study lighting and angles. I want to be able to turn an image into a piece of art. I want to build things up. In this job, all I do is tear things down, and it hurts them.

It hurts _me_.

I need to shake off these thoughts and get back into my zone, because I have work to do, a celebrity to ruin, and, possibly, a picture to post.

The image was taunting me, daring me to sell it to a famous magazine and get rich. It would be simple, efficient, and I might even be able to use the money to quit my crappy job and try for a scholarship at a university to study photography. But something about it doesn't feel right.

_Demi_

_ Selena walked towards me, twirling a magazine like a baton. _

_ "What are you doing?" My voice sounds weird, like we're in a vast area where everything echoes a billion times before finally settling down. _

_ She just laughs at me, doing little twirls and using the rolled up packet to pull of all sorts of odd dance moves. I feel a curious mix of humor, amusement, and irritation bubble in the pit of my stomach. _

_ "Really, what's going on?" The echo effect kicks in for my voice, though it doesn't for hers for some reason. I want to plug my ears to stifle my own words rocketing back at me, but I keep my focus on Selena. _

_ She tosses me the magazine. "Read it."_

_ The cover photo showed me in a tank top and some boy shorts, with my arms raised in the air like I was cheering someone on. There were two red circles- one for each wrist. My heart stopped._

_ The magazine contained a revealing article that exposed my cutting issue and labelled me as some mental chick who needed counceling. My eyes blurred with unshed tears, but I refused to let it go. I looked up at Selena. _

_ "Why would you do this?" I yelled at her, the walls screaming back at me, repeating my cry. _

_ "Don't you get it Demi?" She shook her head. "It's a game. And I just won."_

_ She disappeared, and then I was surrounded by flashing camera lights and news thirsty reporters. My manager was screaming at me through the mess that my Twitter followers had reduced to only 1, and that I would never make it as a celebrity. _

_ Then Selena appeared again, this time with a huge camera pressed up to her face. "Say cheese!" _

I woke up drenched in sweat. I wasn't crying, but my heart was beating wildly and my palms were clammy. What kind of dream was that?

The clock on the dresser told me it was eight in the morning, which meant I had around five hours before I had to be ready to do some more song writing. I had promised myself I would do it every day at 1 pm, that a way I would be able to pace myself, unless I had a sudden inspiration.

I figured I would go out and take a walk; it was a beautiful day outside. No one else was here to entertain, and usually the paps don't find me when I'm blending in.

Grabbing a worn out, green hoodie, I pocketed my cellphone and ran out the door, anxious to get into the fresh air and cleanse my head of my thougths. There were just so many, and 90% of them were fears and doubts.

I kept 10% of my brain and shoved all the rest to the back of my mind as I walked. There was a park nearby, and I figured I should probably just head there and back. That would give me plenty of time to get in some excersice, and then get ready to do some song writing.

_Selena_

My sources told me that Demi wasn't doing anything today. I scoffed; why would she even leave her house? She was safe there, as there was no way any of us paparrazi would trespass for a couple of pictures. We'd be arrested!

I drop by Starbucks and inhale the scent of my morning coffee, loving every second of it. I drink it sometimes, but a lot of the time I only buy the stuff to smell it. Besides, who knows what's in my car. Without the delicious odors of my beverage, what would it smell like in here? Probably moldy pizza and the sour scent of markers. I use a lot of them when I'm outlining profiles.

You know, if you consider yourself a pretty good stalker, you should join the paparazzi. There's really nothing more to it than good old stalking, but there's also some more rules.

1) DO NOT HAVE A SOUL - Having a soul will cause you to actually feel some guilt and thus make your job suck. (Or, more accurately, make you realize that it sucks)

2) BE QUICK - Do you really think that we get pictures by being slow pokes? No! A lot of the good shots are snapped by a pap who had to whip their camera out the last second.

3) DO NOT BE AFRAID OF THE COPS - He he, trust me, if you've never seen the police while doing this job, it's because you ran.

Those are pretty much the basics, I mean honestly, I just want to do some honest work and make some honest cash. But I can't, because I'm doing this job.

The coffee smell is making me want to be outside, with the warmth cupped in my hands and the steam rolling out of the little space on the top. I pull in to the nearest parking space and start walking down the sidewalk, not exactly sure where I'm going.

_Demi_

Okay, talking a shortcut down a somewhat dark alley is _not _a good idea, especially in a big city like this one. Even though it's light out and I can see where I'm going, that doesn't make it better. In fact, it kinda sorta makes it worse, because then you can see all the creepy people watching you as you pass by.

I pull my hood up as far as it can go over my head without affecting my vision. It makes me wonder what would happen if these people knew I was Demi Lovato. Would they cheer me down the alley, or mug me for some cash?

Luckily for me, I'm almost to the end. The opening is right ahead and then...

_Woosh_.

A person runs past me, grabbing my purse at the same moment and yanking it from my grasp. Some of my things spill out, but I keep my attention on the purse snatcher and run after them.

_Selena_

Usually when someone decided to drink coffee and have a nice stroll, they end up drinking coffee and having a nice stroll. But hey, I'm Selena Russo. Things are never that simple.

I had seen a lucky penny on the sidewalk, and bent to pick it up, throwing my other hand out for balance. When I did this, I accidentally smacked a guy in the face.

I turned to apologize, when I saw a girl's purse clutched in his hands, and someone following close behind. Logic clicks, and I put two and two together.

The guy looks like he wants to make a break for it, but I don't give him the chance. I grab him by the collar and wait for whoever was following him to approach.

"Thanks." The voice is a girls.

"Your welcome." I hand her the purse and look at the boy more closely. He only looks to be around fifteen or maybe even up to seventeen, with crazy hair and and a sullen look that would beat a puppys. What is a kid this age stealing purses for?

"You." I shake the kid to get his attention. "What's your name?"

He mumbles something illegible under his breath, and I shake him again. He takes a deep breath. "My parents tell me not to talk to strangers."

The girl from before steps forward and, to my surprise, takes the younger guy's hand. "Look, I don't know why you got involved, my brother and I were just playing a game."

The boy looks just as suprised as me. "We were?"

"Yes." She hisses at him. Something about that voice sounds familiar...

"Oh. Yeah. We were!" He nods. "Can I go now?"

"Wait a second." I reach over and pull down the girl's hoodie. Of course, who else would it be? It's Demi Torres! Cue the applause.

I mentally facepalm. Of all the people to run into.

My camera is still hanging around my neck, and I realize the situation. Demi Torres is holding hands with a strange boy, obviously younger than her. What a perfect picture to take!

For some reason, I can't bring myself to do it. I just smile at the two like an idiot. "So, you two know eachother?" I raise my eyebrows suggestively.

Seriously, I think I've finally snapped. After all those years of promising Justin that I'll go insane, and today has come. I have literally fallen off my rocker.

Why else would I be saying really odd things to a celebrity and a random purse theif guy she picked up on the street?

Demi cracked a smile, then put her arm around the guy, who looked like he wanted to shove her away but was too afraid to lose his ticket out. "Yeah, me and this guy who's name I don't know go _way _back. Like, five minutes ago."'

I mock a gasp. "Five minutes? And you're not married?"

The boy, I can tell, has no idea what to think. Here are two random girls, talking all oddly about weird stuff, and he's just caught in the middle of a conversation that has no real meaning or purpose. I bet he doesn't get this kind of thing every day.

The girl who I'm supposed to be ruining let's go of the boy's hand. She turns him and looks him in the eye. "Can I know your name?"

"It's Max." He mumbles, avoiding her eye.

"Well, Max, I hope you've learned your lesson. Don't steal purses unless you want to be caught by really weird people like Selena over here."

_Demi_

Oh my gosh. Oh my gosh. OH MY GOSH. I just admitted that I knew her name!

I don't want to look away from Max without concluding the lesson, so I keep my eyes on him, though I'm wondering what she's thinking.

"Just no more purse stealing, okay? There are other ways to earn money." I let go of him and he takes off, down the sidewalk and into his alley. Figures.

"That was really nice of you." Selena says from behind me, and I can't desipher her tone.

"Yeah, well, not everyone has the best of parents." I try to keep the bitterness out of my tone, but sometimes the past poisons my words.

"True."

We just stand there in silence, I want to get to know her better right there, for some reason. Something about Selena Russo intrigues me. So I do what every other celebrity would do with a paparazzi girl standing right next to them.

"You wanna come over?"

She looks completely taken aback. "You want _me _to come over to your house?"

I pretend to think. "That was the quesiton, I believe."

Selena obviously doesn't know what to say. For some reason, I'm afraid of a no. I want a yes so badly I can taste the word on my tongue.

"You know what, alright." She nods. "Lead the way to your car."

I laugh. "You think we're driving? You're a funny, funny, girl. It's only a couple blocks down. We'll walk."

She agrees, and we walk the short distance in more silence, and I soon begin to regret inviting her over. What are we going to talk about, the most recent article that made fun of one of my friends?

We both approach the door and I stop her from coming inside. "There is one thing that you have to do."

She looks confused. "And that is...?"

"Unless this is an interview, no paparrazi are allowed in my house." I explain the rule I had set down ever since I had bought the house. "Not even in an emergency."

She raises an eyebrow at me, a smirk playing at her lips. "So...?"

"So that means you gotta leave the paparrazi part of you outside of this line." I motion to the threshold.

Her eyes wide as she realizes what I mean. "Oh no. No no no no no no no no no no no no. I refuse."

I smile at her obvious reluctance. "You have to do it, Selena."

Open mouth. Insert foot. I JUST ADMITTED I KNEW HER NAME AGAIN! Now she'll never forget it!

She reached for her camera slowly- painfully slowly. Then, with a motion as fast as a viper, she pulled the device over her head and shoved it onto a coat hanger hook that was right next to my porch light.

"There goes my livelyhood." I hear her mumble under her breath. I can see panic in her eyes, and I wonder how close she's gotten to that camera.

"Come on, I'll show you my house." I lead her inside, wondering how this afternoon is going to turn out.


End file.
